


Geranium

by eternalsession



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19709248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsession/pseuds/eternalsession
Summary: A collection of thoughts kept bottled up for far too long.





	Geranium

Broken and fragmented. Splintered and scattered. Trying to fit the pieces back together ends you back at square one, in the end. You continue to treat the symptoms before worrying about the cause. No matter how you dance around it, the truth is the truth. Ignore that at your peril.

I’ve said this once and I’ll say it again: we are just the side show. Most people aren’t reading their favorite Christie novel to read about John from the third floor of the apartment on 79th and 3rd. Sure, we can be interesting, and sure, in the chronicle of our own lives we may be the lead actors, but it’s hard to ignore your place in situations. We aren’t important enough to steal the spotlight, even for a chapter. This is not our story. More likely, we’ll never have our own.

That’s fine, though. Every protagonist needs its background characters. They’d never have a story if it were built only on protagonists and “best supporting actresses”. Someone has to be a red shirt, someone has to be there for the main antagonist to step over to rise to the top, someone has to be the unlucky guard on duty when the villain decides to bust out of prison, and so on. The world is built on side characters like us. Not as individuals, but as a collective. It would be nice, though, if… they were to remember our names. At least that.

It hurts, though, at times. It’s all too easy to tell at times when you’re nothing more than a side character. You hear your friends are planning a trip to Paris, you find out your little brother has the spirit of an awfully powerful fox spirit sealed away inside of him, you see your friends getting their lives together and you’re sitting there, alone, toiling away at… _whatever it is_ that you do. Sometimes you start wondering if leading such a life is worth it.

Of course it is, though. Life is precious, there is to be no doubt. It does get tough at times, admittedly, and sometimes you can’t even talk about it. What even is there to say? Does it matter what you have to say? Whether or not you meant what you said or whether or not the powers above decided today was not your day has no bearing on the overarching story. You’re just the sideshow.

Regardless of whether or not you’re standing still, the world still turns. The cogs of time halt for no man, least of all not a side character. Sometimes you miss things because you just don’t move fast enough to catch them. And they will not allow you to catch up. If there’s one thing you’ve learned, its that the world is cruel—at least, it can be, when it wants. It only ever chooses to be cruel when it hurts the most.

You’re inadequate, you know. All those years of verbal degradation was not, in fact, simple slander, but to prepare you for your future. It hurts no less in retrospect, of course, but it’s never pleasant to have your worst fears regarding yourself confirmed. Its like your arms are just long enough to touch but not enough to grasp; full of hope but in all the wrong ways.

That’s why you’ve always preferred solitude. But being alone gives rise to thoughts. Thoughts you would rather keep sealed away under lock and key. At least, that way, you, nor anyone else, will be able to access them. The more and more you think about that which you’ve sealed away in that hidden crevice, the more you believe your suspicions are correct. No matter who or what tells you that you’re wrong, in the end, you’re the master of your own destiny; your perception of yourself. You can be the only one define your self-worth, as much as you desperately plead with yourself for it to be otherwise.

This is not true for all people, you would note. You know better than anyone that pain is relative. At least, you hope it is. You’ve felt awfully terrible about things that were, to most other people, a drop in the well, and vice-versa. But it is true for you. You know your limits, at least.

So instead you seek the comfort of others, that you might be alleviated your burdens. And quickly you realize how big of a mistake that was. You confide in others and depend on them far more than you should, and they quickly tire of your presence. You have so much to say, though, so you wish to publish your thoughts in a public forum, though you know no one truly cares. Maybe they only listen because of their morbid curiosity, perhaps pity—

No.

That’s not true, actually. There are people who care. Those are the worst. When you find the ones who care you cling to them like you were to fall into the swirling abyss should your grip falter. And that’s a part of yourself that you find impossible to forgive. You give a man an inch and he takes a mile. If you don’t give him anything, he bemoans his poor fate. Sickening.

So you retreat into your shell. Only to begin the cycle anew. Disappearing for a few hours at a time to reappear when the dust settles and to act like everything is fine. You think you’ve got a fairly good idea of how to break this cycle, but you would never follow through with it. It would be too far removed from the life you’ve already built up. You would have to first take that leap of faith. But you can’t do it. You’re no Parker, no Morales, no Stacy, no, no, no, of course not.

That’s what keeps you grounded in your soft recliner. You shrink at the prospect of adversity. You feel like screaming, like crying out, but what good does that do? At times like these you wish you could unwrite yourself from history; just unbound this tale by its seams and remove any and every mention of you and replace it with some more fitting character. Just… un-exist.

Wouldn’t that be nice? Alas, it’s never that easy. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” after all. You continue to live your life, as empty and as hollow as it may be. You may never find true happiness; you don’t think you’ve ever been truly happy in your whole life, and that’s… honestly, probably fine. Better that it not be wasted on a half-baked side character like me—I mean, you, right?

Stopping to smell the roses always has made you feel awful. If ever you stop moving, you notice the world around you is full of rot. The brightest part of your life is your mother, and God, is she strong. Much stronger than you. Much stronger than your father, by far. She’s been through hell and she keeps getting up, keeps moving. I guess having something to fight for does that to a person.

I suppose that’s all I’m doing now; stopping to smell the roses. It feels just as awful as I remember it. The dark places in which my mind oft drifts when given free time alone with only you. It’s true that this is much more of a dramatization of it than I think I truly feel about it but matters of the heart have never been my strong point. I do believe I have a way with words, though. Maybe that’s where this stems from.

Then again, these words all but come from the heart. Ignoring such matters overlong is begging trouble. I think I’m beginning to see the cracks. Thinking about it, though, it would seem I’ve been fragmented for far longer than I thought. Better to notice something late than never, I suppose. Knowing your weaknesses doesn’t help for much though when you can’t stand up to them. It’s no small wonder that you and I can’t match up to them, though. After all—

We are just the sideshow.


End file.
